


[Translation] Featherweight by jofing

by AntaresofJuly



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Translated from Chinese, s02 spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/pseuds/AntaresofJuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few critical moments illustrating how Reese and Finch's relationship developed through the first two seasons (when this show was still great). This translation from a Chinese fanfiction is my parting gift to the PoI fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Featherweight/轻如鸿毛](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/84593) by jofing. 



> Even though there are six chapters, this is not a long work. I recommend using the "entire work" button. :)
> 
> This is a translation from a Chinese fanfiction peeking at Finch and Reese's relationship development during the first two seasons.  
> I love this so much that I must translate it. Seriously, it is amazing how much talented writers can convey in just a few words! If it is not great it must be my translation's fault!  
> Spoilers for the first two seasons.

Lying on that stretcher, Reese felt everything strangely familiar. This had happened before: the coldly illuminated ceilings, crisp-white walls, the constant buzz in the ear accompanied by a dull pain. He was wounded in the abdomen, physically and mentally fatigued, unable to pick up the lightest object in the world -- he saw his boss's face: lips stretched into a rigid line, shock-wide guilt-filled turquoise eyes.

"I am so sorry. " Finch whispered. He was wearing white, which made him look shorter than usual. Reese couldn't think of a single thing that his boss should be the slightest sorry for.

He wouldn't be surprised if Finch actually had a surgeon identity, but he couldn't possibly be adept enough to perform a surgery on a critically wounded ex-spy could he? '... Maybe he failed the surgery and now I am going to die,' Reese thought dimly, or what else would he be apologizing for?

He managed to crack his eyes open, and saw his boss talking with some stunned-looking doctor. It was quite weird having to look upward to see Finch's face, same for the stern, nervous expression and screechy voice. 'It was not your fault,' Reese tried to tell him, 'even if you killed me on the table.' But the Iraq doctor began to fiddle with his body, and he passed out soon after.

When he finally awoke enough to reexamine what had happened that night, a fierce surge of longing consumed him. He had knew that Finch could risk his own safety to deliver him a warning of danger, but crashing a CIA trap to snatch away an exposed runaway agent of an employee who was also being targeted by a marksman was something entirely different. Not joking about favorite color or restaurant, he did need to know more if he had actually gained another person he could trust. Who was this guy? Why would he believe Reese? Would he do that again? What could become variables? He had once given out his trust completely, and got relentlessly crushed. He would not, and could not let that happen again.

Fusco might think following someone who had just saved your life 24/7 strange, but Reese knew there was nothing more logical than that.

Finch's concept of privacy protection was still on buffing curious snoops. Reese would certainly dig out enough information before he finally realized that his employee's curiosity had way passed 'what the boss did after work.'

But finding out about Will Ingram was nothing to flaunt about. Finch, in his eagerness to act like a good, normal father-figure, had willingly forfeited his devious rote. He stayed at the insurance company signing up papers, waited until the blond boy knocked open his door. Then they went to the same restaurant they ate every time, collaborated on sorting out Ingram's old house, and together they leisurely walked streets chattering and laughing. Whether Finch knew that Reese was secretly following him, it's obvious he wouldn't risk raising suspicion to the son of his deceased friend in order to entertain his employee's bored curiosity. Maybe he would throw away this identity as well when he found out Reese's knowledge of it -- No, he wouldn't, Reese realized. Finch would keep this identity, to wait for the young man to find him again. Unlike other feathery identities like Swift or Crane, Harold Wren the insurance guy existed for a person. He wouldn't disappear lightly.

The man possessed countless fleeting shadows in this world. Maybe only a few had stayed due to someone holding their foot on them, and projected some figments of his silhouette. But those whom he chose to be held by were too few. Most of the people who tried to get near, like the woman in that engineer office, didn't even get a goodbye when he left.

Such idea unsettled Reese. He couldn't help but ponder the possibility that someday Finch would ditch this current one just as easily as he ditched the one he had used for seventeen years. Maybe one day he would arrive at the library just to find the iron door locked, desk empty, and all evidence of Mr. Finch's existence in some trash can down the street, simply because some other person in his other identities snooped him. And Reese could do nothing, left for wild guess at what had happened, just like that poor engineer woman.

He wouldn't be able to bear that, Reese knew. No matter how healthy, carefree, energetic he might look right now, he still lived on the lives he rescued. His past eviscerated him. Only the need of people he had never met before could fill him, propping him up as some John Reese who smiled, walked, and shot a gun. If one day he could no longer get numbers, he might fall to hell faster than last time (considering now he was more experienced).

But finch didn't know this. He had no idea what he had done. He knew he gave Reese a job, some help too, but he had no idea he had handed Reese an invisible rope hanging over the abyss. Reese worried, cautioned, never dared to hold too fast, but he must find out what this was, and then climb for his life towards the lights above.


	2. Chapter 2

Before Reese realized it, he was already showing off to everyone he met that he was no longer alone: persons of interest, gang muscles, cops... the homeless lady he met when he was down there. "Who is looking after you now?" She asked. "Someone," he answered, and found himself smiling. A few months ago, or in any other stage of John Reese's life, he would be quite chagrined admitting that he needed to be taken care of. But now he was filled with joy for the fact, like some abandoned and scarred patrol dog, finally found a new owner, someone who took him in, recognized his values, fixed him up, worried for him, and scolded him with exasperated distress. He wished for the world to know: someone treated him well, as if he was worthy.

Recharged was he, ready to act, seizing every opportunity to display his competency in accomplishing every task he was assigned to, and stalking his boss with whatever time left, until Finch began to pick up how weird it was to bump into him at every turn. He tried to restrain himself, from actually turning into a clingy large breed. Sometimes he suspected he revealed too much. He couldn't stop looking at Finch all the time, just to turn away his gaze when the man actually closed the distance to adjust that expensive suit. He told the person of interest someone saved him from the pit, knowing Finch was listening on the other end. He felt warm and fuzzy, like a holding a fire in his chest. That was not quite normal, he had to admit to himself, but he was no longer alone, no longer frozen by loss. It was good. He was not even rushing to figure out Finch's story anymore. Reese was pretty certain he had secured a firm bite on one of Finch's shadows. He would stay for him.

Until he heard the name "Nathan" called to his back, clearly.

That Finch was drugged and might need his help prevented him from fleeting New York that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Reese tried to keep everything intact. Life was still moving on, enough to remind him that at least he had a life now. He silently considered whether Finch remembered what he had said that night. He held a secretive and malicious wish that Finch knew exactly how he had hurt him, and despised himself right away. Just like that vague idea he had when he almost died at the clinic, Finch had nothing to be blamed on, even if Finch's prescription would have him killed, because before Finch, no one ever tried to cure him.

But life always knew what type of blade hurt the most.

He almost forgot to say thank you when accepting that small box, or to suspect why Finch was rushing him to leave. He followed Finch's limping gait left and right, until realizing he was in investigation of a new POI. That exact moment hurt more than Kara's gun. Finch was not someone who would put a POI's life in danger in order for his employee to enjoy a relaxing birthday. The only possible reason he kept him out of this was that he didn't trust Reese enough. So he distracted him with a birthday present.

He felt anger, disappointment, panic, and betrayal all at once. The vision of a bird flapping away, without a trace of shadowy feather, became painfully clear. He maintained a secret but never let it lash out. This was not fair. In one moment of danger he saw it: he had never been far away from the darkness.  
Then, he saw sunlight again, and streets, and Finch's refined smile. He would have a chance to get an explanation, but he couldn't guarantee complete control over his expression or tone.

That night passed in violence. It was hardly about the crazy husband so much as Reese having to face himself. He had to ask from the deepest place what kind of person he was. And why on earth would Finch still want him, after knowing everything. Why would he, who had killed following other's order, who had also killed by his own will, be chosen for a job as noble and as unprecedented as this. "I've watched you for long," Finch had said. No document could tell him about the murder of Jess's husband. In a flash, Reese remembered why Finch in hospital would look familiar.

He almost found it laughable. Now he remembered the apologetic tone of that guy in wheelchair he bumped into. "I am so sorry." Finch had whispered, as if the death of a strange killer's lover was his fault, as if his omniscient knowledge automatically rendered him responsible for all that had happened and all that would follow. Before having Reese, this half-crippled, small-framed man had waded through unfathomable crowds and irrepressible violence, dug out flesh and bones from codes and numbers, tormented his conscience constantly for people who didn't even know his existence. Reese didn't know what else he could ask for.

Long before he knew Finch's existence, he already had this man's pity and care. When he was down there lamenting his isolation and grief, there was already someone who morned his morning from the other side of the screen far far away.

He turned around and drove towards the outland prison, feeling the caress of a thousand soft little feathers.


	4. Chapter 4

"He walked towards me, in January, eating a cone of ice-cream. And he smiled!" She told him. He imagined the scenario, and smiled too. Some people of this world were just luckier, and he no longer resent such unevenness. He genuinely admired her privilege to meet a happy, unbroken, not yet closed-up Harold. Then again, Jess knew a brightly laughing, patriotic and idealistic John too. They both had brilliant, colorful times. The world washed them into mud. Jess's golden hair soaking in fresh blood; Harold's spine filled with penitent nails; John who filled his chest hole by saving strangers who eventually would die; Grace who was still painting her beautiful under-appreciated illustrations, settled to be a dead man's fiancée.

They met in the worst of their times. Both exhausted, desolated, headstrong, and torn to pieces.

Still so luckily, they had met.

He walked away from that stagnant door of phantom sands, while Finch watched him behind concealing green leaves, face stiff, wearing a myriad of golden dusts.

Reese walked towards his boss, knowing fully well that even the worst Finch was still the best happening in his life.


	5. Chapter 5

"I didn't expect you to find me, " Finch said. "There are more people who need your help."

He didn't intend his words to be harsh like that. Now it sounded cold and abrasive. But he couldn't deny the feeling he had the moment he saw Reese appearing at the entrance of the station, disheveled: the feeling knowing someone was still concerned about him -- even when he had already given up on himself, and when part of him recognized the many bad codes around him.

But Reese didn't seem to mind: "oh, you might have saved my life once or twice too, Harold." He supported him alone the way, carrying the weight from his damaged leg. "It's only fair to reciprocate."

Finch leaned on the ex-agent's strong arms, a bit wobbly, heart still pounding after the crazy shootout. He pressed on his aching leg and waist, gratitudes and bursting sentiments stuck in the throat, unable to get out coherently.

"I'm a very private person." He once told Reese. Just as true was his inability to output feelings. Reese would use every opportunity he got to tell him that what Finch did was immensely meaningful to him. But Finch could only react with prevarication and silence. He liked their mode of interaction when they first met: two lonely men, with nothing to held but emptiness, walking down a road of misty grey. Reese was skeptical and alert, raising acute questions, and he answered them with polite smiles and suspenseful curt sentences. That should be the mysterious billionaire and hired gunman's default setting. It shouldn't be like this, the gunman ditching his job racing thousands of miles to rescue him, and him facing off a maniacal hacker girl, spitting death-daring nonsense, and missing the lights of a library, whispers in the ear, and good-morning green tea.

He had thought he wouldn't be clingy to life, thought Reese could take over his work after his death. He was wrong on both matters.

He was at a lost at what to do and worried about the new contingency plan. But admiringly, this mistake was not as painful as one would expect.

"Mr. Reese," he called towards the ex-agent's back. Reese turned his head, deep blue eyes waiting.

He still chose the safer words.

"I owe you one."

He said, and watched Reese pulled away his eyes, knowing this had to be it for now.


	6. Chapter 6

Finch was waiting on the roof,

cold winds scratching his face, reminding him of his conversation with Reese after the first case: 'we would most likely end up dead, really dead,' he had said, without a flinch of the eyes. At that time he was so calm, composed, and resolved. To him death was but a grand communion and a promised grace. He knew thoroughly well that his sins could never be atoned for the rest of his life, and already decided to dedicate his demolished body for a hopeless expiation. And he decided -- guiltlessly, to drag another human being into this, someone younger, healthier, and could have a better life, into fighting this pilgrim war of darkness with him.

Reese might think Finch had saved him, dragged him out of hell. None the less, Finch couldn't help but imagine a more peaceful, stabler life Reese could have led, had he met someone better, someone who wouldn't push him back into this world of hellfire once again. And he took Reese's gratitude for granted. If Reese ever died in this, it would be entirely his fault.

Somewhere in the heart, he was vaguely wondering, that if this pain of guilt would once again tear him apart.  
Was this what being close to another human would inevitably cost? He asked himself in the midst of the night, while Reese was on his way to him, death signals attached to chest. Getting near to a person, listening to him, working with him, knowing his jokes, bearing his touches, but did these necessarily made you enter his life; would it result in the inability to accept his departure; would it make you fear, make you worry, hit you, brutalize you, and once again shatter your ingenious arrogance of omnipotent control into pieces, together with your already strained spine?

He knew codes and functions, much better than human's pains and joys. The former never let him down; the later was the source of his torments. He peeked at the world through the eyes of his machine; Nathan had been his only bridge to human side of reality, opening a crack and letting in some sunlight to shine in his pupils. Then the bridge fell down. He had no connection to the whole world anymore.  
Before he could acknowledge it, another bridge was gifted to him. So was a stream of light. This time, he was determined not to let it down.

The door to the roof opened. Reese came out, saw him, and took a breath.

"Seems I'm not too late." Finch said, walking towards Reese.

——END

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of an excellent work (written when the show was still great).  
> If there are anything unsatisfactory that must be my inadequate translation. Please please feel free to point out any mistake I made!


End file.
